


there's an art to life's distractions

by my_little_prongsies



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - YouTube, Getting Together, Gratuitous use of parentheses, M/M, courferre established relationship, i just like writing cute stuff, pure fluff, rated teen for a couple of swearwords, that its, there is basically no story line here, travelling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-26 20:41:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21380284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_little_prongsies/pseuds/my_little_prongsies
Summary: “Is everything okay?” Combeferre asked, placing a mug in front of Courfeyrac, who beamed back.“Oh. Yeah,” Enjolras said, looking up at Combeferre and putting his phone down, looking determined. “I’m in love with Grantaire.”Courfeyrac choked on his coffee, glancing between Enjolras (who looked slightly terrified) and Combeferre (who looked pleased). “Is this a revelation?”Grantaire and Courfeyrac are both popular youtubers and chronicle the story of Grantaire and Enjolras finally getting their act sorted while on a trip to Italy.
Relationships: Combeferre/Courfeyrac, Cosette Fauchelevent/Marius Pontmercy, Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables), Joly/Bossuet Laigle/Musichetta, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 26
Kudos: 165





	there's an art to life's distractions

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: this is pure fluff and was made while I stressed about uni exams as a very enjoyable form of procrastination. I know nothing about both France and Italy and relied upon googling things, so please ignore any irregularities if you find them. Enjoy!

THE GAYEST EASTER OF ALL│EASTER BAKING 101

Life_of_Courf

Posted 20/04/2019

Courfeyrac and Grantaire are in frame, both wearing bunny onesies, Grantaire’s tied around his waist, showing off his t-shirt with Van Gogh’s self-portrait on it, a moustache crudely drawn over his face. They are standing in a kitchen, ingredients spread out on the counter in front of them.

“Hello, my precious ones!” Courfeyrac says brightly, waving to the camera. Grantaire waves too then crosses his arms, leaning against the bench behind them. “Welcome back to Life_of_Courf and another year of Easter baking. My name is Courfeyrac and this is the oh so handsome Grantaire of rdoesnothing, go check him out if you haven’t. I would be surprised if you haven’t seen him and you’re watching my channel.”

Grantaire snorts.

“Anyway,” Courfeyrac continues, waving a hand dismissively, “another year, another Easter, which of course means—drumroll please—” both he and Grantaire do a drumroll on their thighs, “baking!”

There’s an explosion on animated confetti over the screen.

“So,” Grantaire says, “if you’ve watched our other baking videos, you’re aware that it commonly ends in disaster.”

A clip from a previous video plays. Courfeyrac and Grantaire are covered in flour and food dye and there is smoke coming out of the oven behind them, unrecognisable burnt food in front of them. Grantaire is giving the camera a dead look as Courfeyrac dissolves into hysterical laughter. It cuts back to the present video.

“And as much as they are enjoyable and, frankly, hilarious videos to make,” Courfeyrac says, “we actually have a bake sale coming up this Easter Sunday for our group Les Amis and want to make something edible so thought this would be the perfect opportunity to do so.”

“So we’ve enlisted the help of our dear friends," Grantaire says, "who desperately need to take a break from their studying, even though it’s our break.” He pointedly glares off camera at someone who responds with a distant, but obviously resigned, “The break is designed for students to catch up with work, R, we’ve been over this.”

Courfeyrac cuts in, smirking. “Basically, we have volunteers who are actually competent at following instructions to ensure success. Introducing…” Courfeyrac waves a hand out to his right, on Grantaire’s side of the frame. “The one and only grumble bum you guys just heard, Enjolras!”

Enjolras appears next to Grantaire, who he is just shorter than, blonde hair pulled up into a bun on top of his head and wearing a white jumper with a bunny on it that has a physical pom-pom as the tail. He waves awkwardly into the camera, grimacing. “Can I just say that the jumper is not mine and was forced onto me the moment I stepped into the apartment? Whose is it, anyway?” He says, turning to look at Grantaire.

“Pretty sure it’s Joly’s,” Grantaire shrugs. “It was the best thing I could find in my cupboard.”

“And our other special guest,” Courfeyrac holds out his hand to his left. “The most amazing, ever graceful and devastatingly charming Combeferre!”

An automated applause plays as Combeferre steps into the frame, smiling. He’s wearing a t-shirt that says ‘you crack me up’ with two colourful eggs laughing beneath it, both with cracked shells.

“Why didn’t I get an introduction like that?” Enjolras grumbles, arms crossed.

“Because you’re not sleeping with him,” Grantaire says, before quickly jumping to the other side of Enjolras to avoid Courfeyrac’s smack. There’s some commotion before it cuts, Enjolras and Combeferre now standing on the inside, separating Grantaire and Courfeyrac.

“Anyway,” Courfeyrac says, leaning into Combeferre. “We decided to make this a bit more interesting and add a competition into the baking, and with every competition there needs to be a judge, so we’ve enlisted Bahorel, but he is not here yet, so you’ll see him later.”

“Today we will be cooking cupcakes, because every good bake sale needs cupcakes,” Grantaire says, everyone else nodding. “There are three elements that will be judged. Taste, presentation and Easterness, culminating in the overall quality of the cupcakes.” As he says this, the elements appear on the top left corner of the frame, in a fancy border. “We will be using the recipe from this recipe book we found in the kitchen, so hopefully it works, and we also splurged on some decorations for the cupcakes and the aim is to make it as Easter as possible.”

“The teams are as we stand and the team that loses has to wear a bunny costume during the bake sale.” Courfeyrac grins evilly at the camera. “And not just a tail and ears, but the whole shebang.”

“What?” Enjolras asks, turning to Courfeyrac, distressed. “I can’t do that! I’m leading the whole thing—I’m going to have to talk to people.”

“Better not lose then,” Courfeyrac says simply.

Enjolras turns to Grantaire, looking determined. “We are winning this thing.”

“Aye, aye, Captain,” Grantaire says, smirking at the camera, as Enjolras begins to read the recipe, gathering everything they need.

“And begin!” Courfeyrac says hastily, throwing his arms out as Combeferre reads over Enjolras’ shoulder.

It cuts to Enjolras and Grantaire standing at their side of the bench, Enjolras mixing very intently, while Grantaire is cautiously placing toy baby chicks in Enjolras’ hair, without him knowing. He winks at the camera.

It cuts to Courfeyrac talking to the camera, as Combeferre separates their mixture.

“So, the bake sale is raising money for women’s shelters. Our friend Éponine has organised it, and we are donating the money raised to our local shelter, who we’ve worked closely with before. Holidays are always especially hard for people, particularly victims of family violence, who sometimes are no longer able to celebrate with their own traditions. We will also be volunteering there on Easter Sunday, as none of Les Amis really celebrate Easter. If you guys would like to donate money, the links are down below,” he points downwards. “I would suggest trying to donate to your own local shelter, and even volunteer if you get some time, every bit counts.” He smiles sweetly into the camera.

Enjolras has five chicks in his hair.

It cuts to everyone working intently. A chick falls from Enjolras’ hair into the cupcake mixture, which is red, and he looks confused, raising a hand to his hair. He glares at Grantaire, who is cackling, and slowly takes them out before dipping his fingers into the red and smearing it on Grantaire’s face, who sobers quickly and retaliates, but looks very smitten while doing so.

Courfeyrac gives the camera a look, as if this happens constantly.

It cuts to Combeferre, who shows off seven bowls of mixture to the camera, each coloured differently. “So, we’ve decided our cupcakes are going to be rainbow because, as Courf puts it, everything is better when gay.” Courfeyrac pokes his tongue out and Combeferre laughs, picking up a bowl of icing. “We’ve gone for purple icing, because, well, it’s my favourite colour.”

Grantaire looks up at the camera, red mixture smeared over his cheek. “Well, that all sounds very boring. We, or Enjolras, as he didn’t actually consult me, have gone for the classic but very respectable colour of red, and going to do red icing as well, because why not.”

“How is rainbow more boring than red?” Courfeyrac asks. He uses his arm to push his hair back and leaves a strip of flour in its place. Combeferre grabs a paper towel and wipes it off for him, the two of them grinning at each other.

“Because we’re making it,” Enjolras says, as if that was obvious. Grantaire nods in agreement, sliding their muffins into the oven behind them.

It cuts to the four of them standing behind the bench, cupcakes in front of them. Enjolras now has purple icing on his cheek and looks disgruntled.

“So,” Courfeyrac says, “now its time for the best part—decorating!” He gestures to the bags of lollies, bowls of icing and decorating equipment laid out in front of them. “As mentioned earlier, we splurged and basically brought everything in the store. Ferre and I are going to do an assortment of designs, so everyone gets to choose what they want.”

“And Ange and I are going to do little drawings on them, in black icing.”

“We are?”

“Well, I am, you’re just gonna put the red icing on first.” Enjolras nods, looking determined.

There’s a time lapse of them decorating, as they dance to music playing in the background. It resumes the normal pace, the cupcakes now decorated. There’s a birds-eye shot of each group’s cupcakes as Courfeyrac talks over the top of it.

“Bahorel is here now, so he’s going to evaluate them and eat one from each batch.”

It cuts to Bahorel standing with Enjolras and Grantaire, a picture of their cupcakes in the right top corner, the three elements once again in the top left corner. Bahorel is wearing bunny ears over his dreadlocks.

“Hello, everyone!” he says, his voice booming. “I’m Bahorel and am very ready to critique everything my friends here have done.” He turns to Enjolras and Grantaire, acting formal. “Please, run me through your creation.”

“Well,” Enjolras says, “we have made red cupcakes because red is the superior colour and have designed them with drawings, ranging from Easter themed eggs, chicks and bunnies, to things such as the female symbol and important women of history, such as Frida Kahlo.”

“I’m correct in assuming R did the drawings?”

Grantaire snorts. “Have you ever seen Enjolras draw? Its not pretty.” Enjolras glares at him, and he shrugs in response.

“Okay well—what are the elements again?” Bahorel looks off camera and Courfeyrac’s voice responds, “Taste, presentation and Easterness.”

“Right,” Bahorel says, “we’ll start with presentation. These are very nicely decorated, very neat and the drawings are near perfect.” Enjolras beams at Grantaire. “However, I feel the there could be a bit more colour and not just red and black.” Enjolras glowers at this. “I’m going to give this a… 7/10.” An 7 appears next to the category of presentation on the screen.

“Next is Easterness! And, well, half of your cupcakes are clearly Easter themed, and the other half, while not Easter, are very in theme with what we’re raising money for, which I appreciate. As one cohesive unit they work very nicely, so I’m going to give this a 9/10.” A 9 appears next to the category of Easterness and Enjolras and Grantaire high five.

“Last but not least…” Bahorel says, addressing the camera, “taste.” He picks up one of the cupcakes and takes a bite, moaning. “Oh, god, that’s delicious,” he says, mouth still full of food. He finishes eating the whole thing. “How did you make it so good?”

“Enjolras likes to follow instructions,” Grantaire says, slinging an arm around Enjolras’ shoulder.

“They’re there for a reason, R,” Enjolras says, rolling his eyes.

Bahorel nods. “Well, that is easily a 10/10. Well done!” Enjolras turns around to hug Grantaire, who grins at the camera.

It cuts to Courfeyrac and Combeferre standing next to Bahorel, their cupcakes pictured in the top right corner, the elements in the top left again.

“You guys have tough competition,” Bahorel says and Courfeyrac shrugs.

“I’m not worried. Ferre’s good at everything.” Combeferre’s face darkens, and he looks up at the ceiling briefly. Courfeyrac just wraps an arm around his waist. Off screen, Grantaire can be heard saying, “You make that pretty clear whenever he sleeps over.”

“First up,” Bahorel says to the camera, overriding Courfeyrac’s anger. “Please explain your creation.”

“Well,” Courfeyrac says, “we have rainbow cupcakes with purple icing. We’ve used the lollies to create Easter themed images, such as this nest of eggs.” He grins proudly.

“What does a butterfly have to do with Easter?” Bahorel points to one of the cupcakes.

“We, ah, started running out of ideas…” Courfeyrac says awkwardly.

“Okay then,” Bahorel says, clapping his hands once. “First element—presentation.” He carefully assesses all of the cupcakes, purposefully overacting. “Well, I am impressed with the idea of the rainbow, as I can’t actually see it until I bite into one, but it goes very nicely with the purple icing. There is lots of variety and colour on all of the cupcakes—which I appreciate. I’m going to give you… 10/10!” A 10 appears next to category of presentation. Courfeyrac claps excitedly, grinning at Combeferre. He pokes his tongue out at something off camera and Enjolras’ voice replies, “Oh [beep] off.”

“Second element—Easterness. I do really enjoy the cupcakes that are Easter themed. They’re cute, fun and colourful. However,” Bahorel shakes his head sadly, “there are at least four cupcakes that have nothing to do with Easter, or even women, so I’m going to have to penalise that. I’ll give it… 7/10.” Courfeyrac nods as a 7 appears next to Easterness in the corner.

“So we just need a perfect score for the cupcakes to win,” Combeferre says. Someone groans off camera.

“Well, if you followed the recipe like Enj did, you should be fine.” Bahorel picks up a cupcake and slowly raises it to his mouth, smirking when Courfeyrac starts jumping up and down in anticipation. He takes a bite. “Holy cow, that’s amazing. Yep, definitely. 10/10.”

“YASSS!” Courfeyrac screams, throwing his arms around Combeferre, who twirls him around.

Enjolras and Grantaire walk into the frame, looking very put out. Bahorel shakes their hands, saying, “I’m sorry, my dudes, you guys fought valiantly.”

Grantaire snorts.

Courfeyrac lets go of Combeferre and addresses the camera. “So, as punishment for losing, these two will have to wear bunny costumes on Sunday to greet all of our customers.” He grins wickedly and Enjolras crosses his arms, scowling. “Thank-you so much for watching. If you can, please come down to our sale, I’ll leave the details down below and remember to donate! Unfortunately, I’m coming up to the end of the semester and have a pretty busy schedule, so will not be able to post as often, as is the same with R.” Grantaire nods. “But we’ll be back, and bring you guys some hopefully enjoyable content!” Courfeyrac waves madly at the camera and everyone else joins in.

It cuts to his end-credit page, where links to his channel and previous videos are displayed, as well as Grantaire’s channel. Behind it, footage from the bake sale is showing Enjolras greeting customers in a massive white bunny costume, the head held underneath one arm rather than on his head, Grantaire a little bit away, also in the costume, dancing wildly with some children. The camera pans around to get a close up of Enjolras, who just glares at it.

ENJOLRAS

Enjolras glared at Courfeyrac and the camera he was holding, willing him to go away. He had just finished talking to a mother, while her kids had played with Grantaire (which did not make him smile at all, what are you talking about), about the importance of helping those who were less fortunate, particularly around holidays, as they were centred around family. (She had looked way to amused the whole time, glancing at his bunny costume.) As much as he loved everything he did with Les Amis, he was more than ready to collapse into his bed right now.

“Can you not, Courf?” He asked pleadingly, putting the bunny head on a bench near him. Courfeyrac grinned, turning off his camera.

“How ya going?” Courfeyrac was well aware just how tired Enjolras was, having spent the last couple of nights in his flat with Combeferre.

“I’m tired, stressed and just want to go home,” Enjolras replied, slumping down onto the bench.

“Only one more hour left and then you can go sleep to your hearts content.” Courfeyrac lightly kicked his foot. “It’s probably not worth saying, but it is your own fault.”

Enjolras groaned, head rolling back. “I know.”

“What’s this?” Someone interrupted them and Enjolras looked over to see Grantaire walking towards them.

Courfeyrac grinned. “Enj has a report due next week.”

“Oh, so that’s why you look so tired.”

“I do?” Enjolras sat up properly, running a hand through his hair, but promptly got caught in tangles because he didn’t have time to wash it that morning. (He tried not to focus on the fact that Grantaire had apparently been paying enough attention to him to notice he was tired, because really, it probably didn’t mean anything.)

“Eh, it’s hardly noticeable,” Courfeyrac said, walking away backwards. “I better go help Marius—he looks a bit lost. Just one more hour, Enj, you can make it.” He turned around and walked over to Marius, who did, in fact, look lost, standing behind a table full of baked goods and cluelessly looking at the person he was serving.

Grantaire sat down beside him, putting his own bunny head on the ground. “Hey.”

Enjolras smiled, replying, “Hey.” As annoying as this stupid crush on Grantaire was, he was getting better at not being obvious and was now able to hang around him without freaking out. There had been a month where he was even more of a jerk than usual because every time Grantaire spoke to him, he clammed up and didn’t know what to say, which resulted in him just trying to ignore him. (It took Combeferre to sit him down and explain that not talking to someone was not going to get them to like you back, so he should probably “stop being a dick and get over yourself”.)

“You okay?” Grantaire looked at him closely and Enjolras felt himself redden slightly, hoping it could be blamed for being in the sun in a furry bunny costume.

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Enjolras said quickly, “I’m just—” He stopped, unsure what to say.

“Stressed?”

“Yeah.” That was close enough. Everything inside of him culminated to more than just stress, but he didn’t have the brain power right now to want to figure it out. (He had actually been stressed ever since seventh grade, when he first truly realised how horrifying the world was and how much it needed to change.) “Can you, um, distract me?” It was quiet at the moment, Marius’ customer having been dealt with, so Enjolras allowed himself a break.

“With what?” Grantaire asked, amused.

“I don’t know, anything.”

“Okay,” he said slowly, leaning back and taking a moment to think. Enjolras couldn’t stop himself from staring at Grantaire’s profile, with his strong jaw and bent nose from being broken at least twice (no one was entirely sure how as he liked to maintain an air of mystery. There was currently a betting pool run by Bahorel and Courfeyrac).

“So,” Grantaire started, “one place that I have always dreamed of going to is Italy and I’m trying to find the time to go, but can’t seem to. Like, I literally do visual arts and art history, and am planning my whole life around this and I haven’t even seen the pinnacle of what art is. There is so much in Italy, from David to the Sistine Chapel, and those are only the really famous ones, and I just really need to see them.” Grantaire sighed, looking up at the sky.

“You should go.”

“What?” Grantaire asked, looking at him with shock.

“You should go,” Enjolras repeated, emphatically.

“Did you not here me? I don’t have the time or money.”

“We finish in a couple of months—you can go then.”

Grantaire considered it. “I mean, I guess I could.”

“If it means this much to you, you need to go.” Enjolras felt himself start to get excited about it, like he did with every cause he came across (not that he considered Grantaire a _cause_). He could feel the anticipation rising inside of him, the need to just go home and research every little thing he could and come back to a meeting spewing all the knowledge he had.

“Enjolras!” A voice called and Enjolras (unfortunately) turned away from Grantaire to see Combeferre pointing covertly towards a group of young students who had just walked up to the sale. Enjolras sighed, picking up his bunny head and standing to greet them, smiling briefly at Grantaire on the way.

His mind couldn’t get Italy out of his head.

Depression│My life: part three

rdoesnothing

29/04/2019

The screen shows Grantaire sitting on his couch that he uses for videos, the background filled with paintings made by himself and pictures of all his friends. Both he and Courfeyrac use this as their base background. He smiles slightly into the camera.

“Hey everyone,” he says, waving. “As you can probably tell, this isn’t exactly a fun video today, but it’s something I’ve dealing with for years so thought you guys should know. I have a couple of other videos about my life if you want to check them out—I’ll leave the links down below.”

He sighs and picks up a mug, taking a sip.

“So,” he begins, “the reason I am sharing this part of me with you guys now is because I am actually in a really good part of my life and feel comfortable sharing this. This video has kind of been in the back of my mind for a few months and Ferre finally convinced me that it would be a good, therapeutic way to help me, so shout out to him. I’m not going to go into a lot of detail, because it is still hard for me and I am by no means an expert on how to properly deal with mental health—I only know what works for me.

“I was officially diagnosed with depression and anxiety just after I turned 15. I was being bullied in school at that point, which didn’t help, but I’m pretty sure I would have gotten it at some point, anyway. It was difficult, to say the least. My parents didn’t really understand how mental health worked and the fact that, no, I couldn’t just get out of bed, it wasn’t that easy. So, for the first few years, I wasn’t really able to cope with what I was going through and I was getting further and further away from my family and had virtually no friends.

“And then I hit my lowest during senior year. All of the stress of trying to stay in school and actually needing to do well so I could go to university resulted in lots of panic attacks, almost every second day, by some point. And, well, this was also the year of 18th birthdays and everyone being able to legally drink. I was one of those kids, at least by senior year, where I was kinda friends with everyone, but not actually close to anyone, but that meant I was invited to a lot of parties and realised that alcohol was the only thing able to make me feel normal for once.”

Grantaire takes a deep breath, patting the grey cat that had jumped up next to him.

“I want to make it very, _very _clear. Alcohol is never the solution and when you’re young and lonely, it can very quickly become an addiction when used inappropriately. Which is what happened with me. I’m not going to go into details, but it was bad enough that for the second half of that year, I was drunk most of the time—it’s a miracle I even passed my exams, and well enough to get into university. It was the darkest time of my life and I like not to relive it.

“But then, I moved out of a home where I didn’t speak to anyone and went to university where I somehow made friends. I first met Éponine and Courfeyrac and became incredibly close with them. And there was also Bossuet and Joly, and eventually Musichetta. After a few months, I met the rest of my friends and am so grateful for them. I still drank way too much, nearly flunked out of my first year, and, of course, I still had weeks at a time when I couldn’t get out of bed, but having those friends around me really, truly helped. I would mostly see them twice a week and, honestly, those times are the only thing I can really remember from that year. I finally had this one good thing in my life and was able to open up to them, which was the most helpful thing I could have asked for.

“During summer, things started to go down again. I stopped seeing everyone as much and would spend most of my time drunk in my room. That was until my friends pulled an intervention, led by Joly, and forced me to stop my drinking—in a completely safe way, I promise, and also with my permission because I _was_ able to see just how bad it was. After months and months of weaning myself off alcohol because I was too far gone to go cold turkey, I had my last drink just over two years ago now and feel great. I’ve been going to therapy fortnightly for about the same time, which has helped immensely, and I finally feel like my life is going in the right direction for once.

“It has not been easy by any measure and I still have depressive episodes, but they are few and far between now. This channel, of course, has been monumental in helping and I am so thankful for every one of you, you’ve helped so much, even when you don’t mean to.”

He takes another sip of his mug, sighing as he leans back against the couch, looking content.

“I’m happy and loving it. I have great friends, enjoy my classes, have a goal in life, and love making these videos. My life is not perfect, and it’s taken my far too long to get here, so just remember that if you ever feel alone or are dealing with mental health issues, try and find someone to talk to. It doesn’t even have to be about what you’re dealing with—you could just talk about your favourite show or movie or maybe about something you found funny. Talking to people really helps.

“So, ah, thanks for watching this. This is just my experience and doesn’t really cover all of it, because not everything about my life needs to be on the internet. I’m nervous to release this video but know that I have to do it.”

He waves into the camera.

“I will be taking a short break while I finish this semester of university, because I would really like to pass,”—he grins—“and I will see you guys soon.”

It cuts to his end credits page, where links to previous videos and his channel are displayed.

GRANTAIRE

The bell above the door to the Musain chimed obnoxiously as someone walked through it, but Grantaire ignored it, studiously working on a concept essay for one of his final pieces. He had posted the video earlier that day and was trying (and failing) to not think about it, as he took a bite of the cheesecake Éponine had placed in front of him half an hour ago, as she had kissed his forehead and squeezed his shoulder.

The chair across from his slid against the ground and he finally looked up, meeting Enjolras’ bright blue eyes.

“Hey,” Enjolras said, smiling brightly (everything about Enjolras was bright) and sitting down.

“Hey,” Grantaire said back, a little dumbly. “What are you doing here?”

“I just finished class and wanted some coffee.”

Grantaire checked his phone, realising it was far later than he thought it was (he had unconsciously memorised Enjolras’ timetable and he finished at five on Mondays—he had believed it was only just past three). “Huh,” he said, once again dumbly.

“What are you working on?” Enjolras asked, leaning forward in his chair. They were both in large, awfully patterned armchairs that were the “most amazing, comfiest, outstounding chairs that my arse has had the pleasure of sitting on,” according to Courfeyrac.

“Oh, um, one of my concept essays for the end of year,” Grantaire said, saving his work and closing the laptop. “I’m trying to distract myself.”

“Because of your video?” Enjolras picked up Grantaire’s spoon and took some cheesecake for himself.

“Uh, yeah.”

“I watched it—it was really good,” Enjolras said simply. He took another bite before looking up at Grantaire. “I’m glad you posted it.”

Grantaire and Courfeyrac had had dinner at Enjolras and Combeferre’s last night because Courfeyrac had insisted he couldn’t go alone because then Enjolras would be third wheeling and grumpy (which was ridiculous because even though it was Combeferre and Courfeyrac madly in love with each other, the three of them acted as one cohesive unit that seemed impossible to break and Enjolras hardly allowed himself to be pushed to the side). At the end of the night, Grantaire had ended up talking quietly with Enjolras on their small balcony as the other two cleaned up the dishes—which had ended with them both being drenched in soapy water—and somehow Grantaire started talking about how scared he was for posting the video (once he started talking, he had a habit of not being able to stop).

“Me too,” Grantaire said, stealing the spoon back so he could eat his own food. “Just a little terrified.”

“You have nothing to worry about,”—Enjolras made grabby hands for the spoon, completely ruining his serious voice—“and if people are dicks, then fuck ‘em.”

Grantaire let out a surprised laugh, handing over the spoon after he took a piece. “Will do, Apollo.”

Enjolras scowled at the nickname, looking like a grumpy dandelion (his hair was always a mess after classes, from getting repeatedly frustrated at the state of the world). He brightened up suddenly. “So, I’ve been doing some research.”

“On?” Grantaire could only guess what it was about—Enjolras was prone to hearing one small injustice and researching it to the ground before starting a new campaign. He picked up his mug of tea, taking a sip.

“Italy.”

Grantaire paused, the mug hanging in the air. He looked at Enjolras, cocking his head. “What?”

“Italy,” Enjolras repeated, a pleased smile taking over his face. “I was thinking about what you were saying the other day, so I started looking at what we can do there and I found this organisation that do wildlife and environmental preservation that are always looking for help. They are all over Italy too—Milan, Venice, Florence, Rome and Naples—all the places you want to go. There would be free time, of course, so we can see everything you want to. I was thinking of taking Les Amis—we can go during summer break and everyone would love it.”

“What?” Grantaire repeated, knowing he sounded stupid, but not able to help himself.

Enjolras suddenly looked concerned. “Don’t you want to go?”

Grantaire shook himself. “Of course!” he said enthusiastically, before grimacing. “Give me a moment, I’m just surprised.”

“Why?” Enjolras looked confused and Grantaire wanted to reach over and unfurrow where his eyebrows had scrunched together (he somehow found it in himself to restrain from doing so).

“Ange,” Grantaire said, a little pleadingly—Enjolras was horribly dense around people sometimes, “we had one conversation and how you’ve come back with a full plan and it’s just a bit much.”

“It is? I thought you would like it.” Oh God, he looked so adorable when lost. Grantaire reached out a hand, covering Enjolras’ own.

“I do, really,” Grantaire said, needing to reassure him, “I was just surprised.”

“Okay.” Enjolras nodded, turning his hand around and catching Grantaire’s, squeezing. (For someone so inept when it came to people, he was incredibly tactile when it came to his friends.) He let go, smiling, and taking another bite of the cheesecake.

“Come on,” Grantaire said, opening his laptop and pulling up Google, “show me this organisation.”

Grantaire ended up having dinner with Enjolras (again) as they talked about what they could do in Italy and how to convince 11 other people that they should come, completely forgetting that he was meant to be worrying about something. He came home to a very gleeful Courfeyrac, who had apparently been informed by Éponine where Grantaire had been all evening. (He really needed to control his friends more—they were insatiable sometimes.)

I have friends???│Introducing Les Amis de l’ABC

rdoesnothing

13/06/2019

Bahorel is in the frame, facing towards the camera but looking behind it. He says, “always be a bitch if you can get €50.” There’s a snort behind the camera.

It cuts to Grantaire grinning at the camera. There is a grey cat sleeping next to him.

“So, ah, hey,” Grantaire says grimacing slightly. “Sorry for not updating for a while—Courfeyrac says the same but he’s still in exams so isn’t here. I, myself, submitted my final project yesterday afternoon, after many gruelling weeks of wasting away behind a canvas, but it is finally done and all I did for the past 24 hours was sleep.”

He pats the cat next to him, leaning back against the couch. “I have some free time so I thought I would do a video I’ve been thinking about doing for a while now, so we’ll see how it goes. At the start of next month, all of my friends and I are going to Italy for a couple of weeks because I have been wanting to go for forever, as I major in visual arts and art history. I was talking to Enjolras about it and he, being who he is, started googling things to do there and found this really cool organisation that travels all around the country and somehow convinced 12 of us to go with him. So, here we are. I’ll leave the link to the organisation below if you want to check it out.” He points downwards.

“If you frequently watch me and Courf’s videos, you’re probably aware by now that we are in a student run organisation that aims to, I don’t know, fix the world or something?” He shrugs. “You’ll find out later. It was founded by Courfeyrac, along with Combeferre and Enjolras, who you have seen plenty of and has been independent from our university for about six months now. Everyone who is going on the trip is a member of this group, and seeming as Courf and I will be vlogging, I thought I should properly introduce everyone to you! And by introduce, I mean I’m going to follow them around and bug them until they say something. It’ll be fun!”

It cuts to a black screen with Courfeyrac and Combeferre written in bold white font.

“I figured I’d start easy, as these two are in the apartment now, studying in Courf’s room,” Grantaire says, as it cuts to the camera travelling down a hallway. “Or at least I hope its studying,” he says in a whisper.

A hand appears in frame and slowly pushes a door, which opens to Courfeyrac reading a textbook on his bed, while Combeferre sits at the desk, studying, who looks up at the sound of the door opening and grimaces.

“What’s up, R?” he says resignedly, turning away from the desk.

“I’m introducing everyone properly before we go away.”

“Haven’t I already been introduced?”

“Well, yes, but we’re doing proper ones.”

“Will it take long? I have to study.”

“Ah, shouldn’t be too long.” Grantaire then quietly says, “he loves me really, just doesn’t like to show it.”

Combeferre sighs and it cuts to the slightly shaky camera facing the bed where both Combeferre and Courfeyrac now sit.

“What do we do now?” Combeferre asks Grantaire, looking behind the camera, as Courfeyrac grins lazily into the camera, wiggling his fingers.

“Give me a spiel on who you are,” Grantaire says impatiently.

“I’ll go first! Help you out, babe,” Courfeyrac says, patting Combeferre’s knee. “My name is Courfeyrac and if you aren’t aware, I frequently appear on R’s channel and even have my own—Life_of_Courf—if you wanna check it out.”

“Blatant self-promotion,” Grantaire mutters and Courfeyrac ignores him.

“I am 21-years-old, studying media, specifically film, and am just about to finish my third year. Come this time next week and I will be a free man!” He grins excitedly. “I want to continue making videos, and possibly film one day, that celebrates diversity. I am also a co-founder of Les Amis, which we started about two years ago and have made heaps of progress since. Most importantly, I am currently with this hunk of meat next to me and have been for over two years now. We are very happy.” He nods earnestly as Combeferre darkens, looking away. “Your turn.”

Combeferre clears his throat. “Hello, I’m Combeferre and am 21-years-old. I’m currently studying medicine and about to finish my nursing internship and my third year. I’m aiming to work in ER one day. I’m also another co-founder of Les Amis and am very proud of how far we come. We aim to improve the lives of everyone we can, by having members specialise in certain areas. At the moment, we are mostly just working within our university, but try to breach out when we can. I also really like moths. And reading.”

Courfeyrac laughs. “He’s a big nerd.”

“Thank-you very much guys, I’ll leave you be!” The camera switches to selfie view as Grantaire leaves the room, addressing the camera. “Don’t worry, you will be seeing more of them, but I actually have quite a few friends I need to get through and am now going to go on a hunt through the city to find them.” There’s a jangling of keys and Grantaire leaves the apartment, continuing to walk down a hallway. “This will probably take a few days, which doesn’t actually bother you guys, just me, putting in the gruelling work to entertain you people.” He grins at the camera. “The things I do for love.”

It cuts to the black screen with Jehan written across it now. It switches to a video of the park, the camera heading towards a tall, willowy person, wearing an eclectic outfit and sitting on a bench. Dramatic music swells in the background

“Guess who I just ran into,” Grantaire says. “Was walking through the park on the way to the Musain, where we hold the meetings, ‘cause I’m getting lunch with Enjolras, and spotted the ever elusive Jehan.”

Jehan looked up at this, just noticing Grantaire. “Oh, hi, R!” they say cheerfully. “What are you doing?” They put down a book they were reading, using a finger to hold the place.

“I’m introducing everyone of Les Amis before we go away. Decided the public should finally know all these people I talk about.”

“Oh, lovely, what should I say?”

“Just anything and everything about you.”

Jehan looks directly into the camera. “Hello, darlings, my name is Jehan, I’m 20-years-old and use they/them pronouns. I am currently majoring in gender and sexually diverse studies in university and have just finished my second year. I wish someday to be poet on the level of Keats and Plath, and have my own YouTube channel, where I post readings of my work. My speciality in Les Amis is for those who are gender non-confirming, and hope one day for everyone to feel included and loved in this world.”

They look at Grantaire. “Was that good?”

“Perfect.”

They smiled, opening their book again. “I’ll see you tonight?”

“Of course.”

Grantaire starts walking off, Jehan waving into the camera. He switches it to selfie mode. “We actually have a Les Amis meeting tonight, and while everyone will be there, they will all be too busy to introduce themselves there. Although, I might ask Enjolras if we can film it, or at least parts of it, so you guys have an idea of what we do.” He leans in closer in the frame. “Hint—it’s mostly Enjolras talking about something that’s pissed him off.” He grins. “I’ll see you guys soon.”

The black screen appears again, now with Enjolras written there.

The camera sits on a table in a coffee shop, angled upwards, with no one in the screen. Grantaire’s voice can be heard from behind the camera. “So Enjolras doesn’t know what I’m doing yet—let’s see how this goes.”

Enjolras appears, two coffees in his hand, passing one over to Grantaire and sitting down into the seat in frame, looking between the camera and Grantaire. He points at it. “What’s that for?”

“I’m introducing you.”

“Why?” Enjolras looks sceptical.

“For when we go away. I thought everyone should know who’s going to be featured in those videos.”

“Right.” He looks as Grantaire the whole time. “What do you want to know?”

“Name, age, what you’re studying, what you do with Les Amis, anything else interesting about you, blah, blah, blah. By the way, lovelies, Enjolras is still in the middle of exams but Combeferre has ordered him to leave the house at least once a day, so here we are. You finish next Friday, right?”

Enjolras nods, and then looks into the camera. He quickly looks back up at Grantaire. “This is weird.”

“You’re weird.” Enjolras rolls his eyes. “It’s easy, just talk into the camera, you’ve done it plenty of times.”

“Yes, but usually someone else is with me.”

Grantaire sighs. “You can stand up in front of a massive crowd and speak flawlessly, but this makes you nervous.”

There’s some shuffling and then it cuts to Grantaire and Enjolras sitting together.

“Okay, go,” Grantaire says.

“Um, hello, I’m Enjolras, I’m 21 and am studying law and international relations, about to finish my third year.”

“One week left!” Grantaire interrupts and Enjolras smiles.

“Yes,” he continues, “I wish to work in legal aid and then eventually move to politics. I am one of the founders of Les Amis de l’ABC, along with my best friends, Combeferre and Courfeyrac. Combeferre was the one to come up with the name. We vote every six months on the leader, and, well, I’ve been elected each time so far.” He rubs his neck. “We meet twice a week, one meeting is an open discussion with the public, discussing varying everyday injustice people experience and how to help them and what to do in situations, and then the other meeting focuses on a specific issue and any events we have planned and is just for full-time members. For example, tonight’s meeting will be on what we’re aiming to do while in Italy.”

“Apart from sight-seeing.”

“Of course. Anything else I need to say?” He says this to Grantaire.

“Nope. That was perfect.” Grantaire grins cheekily.

“Good, because our food is about to arrive and I am very ready to eat it.”

Grantaire waves at the camera enthusiastically as Enjolras continues talking to him.

It cuts to the black screen, Éponine now written.

She appears in the frame, glaring into the camera. She’s sitting on a couch in the same coffee shop, in an apron and eating an apple.

“This, my lovelies, is the one and only Éponine!” Grantaire says, behind the camera. “She is currently on her break for where she works, the Musain, and has agreed, very begrudgingly, to introduce herself.”

She takes a bite from her apple, staring at Grantaire, who coughs awkwardly. “You want to begin?” he says slowly.

“I’m Éponine, 20, and don’t study, but work here instead.”

“What do you do in Les Amis?”

“I sit there and laugh while Enjolras gets more and more frustrated by you,” she smirks, looking at Grantaire.

“’Ponine,” he says.

“Fine,” she looks into the camera again. “I like to remind all you guys in the group that women are far more marginalised than you realise and organise fundraisers for women’s organisations, such as our local women’s shelter.”

“Which was mentioned in Courf’s latest Easter baking episode, if you wanna check it out. We made delicious cupcakes.”

“They were pretty good. You and Enjolras were pretty cute, too.” An evil grin came over her face and she leant towards the camera, grabbing for her phone at the same time. “You guys wanna see something adorable?”

The camera shakes violently, and it cuts to the black screen, Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta written on it.

It cuts to Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta sitting on a couch together in their own apartment.

“Everyone,” Grantaire’s voice begins, “these three in front of me are some of the best people in the world and the only reason I’ve made it this far—you will love them.”

Musichetta looks fondly behind the camera, towards Grantaire. “Thank-you for the kind words, R.”

“But you made it because of yourself,” Bossuet says, “we’ve been through this.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Grantaire says. “Come on, Joly, begin.”

Joly looks into the camera, waving brightly. “Hello, I’m Joly, 21 and currently studying medicine, about to finish my third year. I wish to be an immunologist, but am also considering psychologist—very different I know. My role in l’ABC is promotion/marketing, although Enjolras hates that term. I ensure all of our events are well publicised and easily accessible for everyone. The three of us specialise in mental health awareness because we find it very important and believe more needs to be done.” He turns to Bossuet. “Boss?”

Bossuet leans forward excitedly, accidentally knocking an empty mug over on the coffee table in front of them. His bald head flushes as he rights it. “Um, hey, I’m Bossuet and am known for being very unlucky. I’m 21 and studying law, only finishing my second year because there was a mix up with paperwork and I had to take a year off. I hope to one day work for a pro bono clinic and help as many people as I can. I do not have a role in Les Amis, but of course help with all of our events.” He nods and leans back, signalling that he’s done.

“Hello,” Musichetta says, smiling, “my name is Musichetta and I am 22 and about to finish my studies in philosophy. I’m going to continue on to get a masters, and hopefully publish my own work. I live here,” she motions to the room around her, “with these two lovely gentlemen. We help a lot with LGBTQIA+ issues in Les Amis, but that is a pretty universal issue for everyone, so there’s no need for someone to specialise.”

“Perfect, thanks guys,” Grantaire says.

The black screen appears, Les Amis de l’ABC written across it. It cuts to the Musain again, now in a back room, Grantaire holding the camera in selfie mode and Courfeyrac next to him.

“So,” Grantaire says, “Enjolras gave me permission to film the meeting, but it’s not going to be super interesting to we’ll see what we get. However, I may be able to snag the rest of them—I only have Bahorel, Feuilly, Cosette and Marius to introduce now—” he says this to Courfeyrac before turning back to the camera. Courfeyrac nods, “before the end of the night, it’s gonna be pretty relaxed.”

It cuts to the camera being in the corner of the room, set up to be able to see everyone. There’s a time lapse for about 10 seconds of half way through the meeting, showing Enjolras standing up and talking, a slide presentation behind him, featuring a map of Italy. Combeferre and Courfeyrac are sitting on either side of him, Grantaire next to Courfeyrac. He gives the camera a flat look the whole time, as Enjolras talks excitedly.

It cuts to Courfeyrac and Jehan standing in front of the camera, leaning down so their faces are in the view. Everyone else is sitting around talking, the meeting over. Courfeyrac smirks.

“So,” he begins, his smirk getting wider. “We’re going to be conducting the rest of the interviews, because someone is a little bit distracted at the moment and has probably forgotten about you guys.”

He reaches out, picking up the camera and it moves shakily to show Grantaire deep in discussion with Enjolras, who is gesticulating wildly.

“This happens a lot,” Jehan says, poking their head into the frame. “Meetings get derailed often because Grantaire interrupts at some point and Enjolras just has to counter and it turns into the two of them arguing. Although,” Jehan looks at the two, before facing the camera again, “it doesn’t really look like arguing at the moment.”

Courfeyrac zooms in on them and Grantaire has a smile on his face, as he starts talking, Enjolras listening intently. “Don’t worry, lovelies,” Courfeyrac says, “I’ll make sure R puts this in—I have plenty of blackmail on him.”

It cuts to the black screen again, Bahorel written across it, and then it shows Bahorel sprawled out on an arm chair.

“And here is Bahorel!” Courfeyrac says, behind the camera. “Please, introduce yourself.”

Bahorel grins charmingly at the camera, dreadlocks pulled back from his face. “Hello, my name is Bahorel, I’m 23, about to finish my law degree, and who knows what I’ll do next year. I am the unofficial bodyguard for Les Amis, along with R, because Enjolras refuses to believe that we need some, but as much as we love him, he is a naïve little boy. Is he going to be watching this?” Bahorel asks Courfeyrac.

Courfeyrac snorts. “He religiously watches R’s videos, so yes.”

Bahorel’s grin widens. “Perfect. Enj, please listen to me very carefully.” He leans towards the camera, staring into it. “We love you, man, we really do. You’re the reason behind all this and it’s amazing. But, dude, you’re gonna get yourself killed one day, which is why you need us.” He sits back, looking at Courfeyrac. “Anything else?”

“Nope,” Courfeyrac says, laughing, “that was perfect.”

It cuts to the black screen, Marius and Cosette written now, then shows Marius, a freckly ginger, and Cosette, blonde hair braided, sitting at a table.

“This, my darlings,” Courfeyrac says, behind the camera, “is the most adorable couple in the world, apart from me and Ferre, because no one can beat us. Anyway, Marius, go!”

“Oh, uh,” Marius blushes and Cosette smiles softly, placing a hand on his knee. “I’m Marius and, um, 21. I’m about to finish my third year of law, along with Courfeyrac, which is how we met, actually. I would like to work in legal aid one day. I originally wanted to go into corporate law, but when I mentioned that to Enjolras, he kind of went crazy—it was scary. I’m pretty sure he still doesn’t like me.” He shrugs sheepishly.

Courfeyrac laughs. “Don’t worry, he’ll get over it one day. Cosette?”

“Hi,” Cosette says brightly, “I’m Cosette, 20, and about to finish my second year of studying history. I would like to become a historian, specialising in women’s history, because it is largely overlooked. I work closely with Ép in Les Amis, although I’m only a recent official member, and thoroughly enjoy what we do here.”

“Awesome, thanks guys!” Courfeyrac says. “Only one more left…”

The black screen appears again, Feuilly written across it. It cuts to a man with ginger hair, Feuilly, sitting in an armchair, similar to Bahorel’s.

“Feuillyyyyy!” Courfeyrac says excitedly. “Please, introduce yourself!”

“Well, I’m Feuilly, 22, and about to finish my poli sci degree, which I’m very excited for. I want to work in politics and hopefully become an diplomat one day. My role in l’ABC is treasurer, but I also specialise on working unions and organising all the help they can get. I work two jobs at the moment, and once we get back from Italy, I’m hoping to pick up a couple more.”

“Feuilly is the most impressive person I’ve ever met, and I don’t know how he has time for anything,” Courfeyrac says.

Feuilly laughs softly. “Thank-you, Courfeyrac.”

“He’s also a complete gentlemen and if I wasn’t completely in love with Ferre, I would definitely go for him.”

Feuilly laughs harder this time, coughing.

It cuts to Grantaire sitting in his own apartment again, in a different outfit, presumably the next day.

“So,” he begins, “that’s all of my friends that you’ll see when we go away. I hope the interviews from last night turned out well, I haven’t watched them. I swear I was going to do them, but apparently Courf got to them before me.”

“Damn right I did,” Courfeyrac says, his voice far away off camera. Subtitles are provided.

Grantaire chuckles. “Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this video and like my friends, because I certainly do. You’ll get to see a lot more of them very shortly and also Italy, which is going to be amazing. Please subscribe you haven’t and like this video—I’ll see you guys soon.” He waves into the camera and his previous video and channel pop up on screen as links.

It cuts back to the Musain, close up on Feuilly, who is standing, with Bahorel next to him, half out of frame. Both of them are clearly drunk. Feuilly points into the camera, smiling as he says, “I’m single as a pringle and _not_ ready to mingle because my life is busy and who has time for love anyway?”

“Hear hear,” Bahorel booms, lifting up a glass of beer.

COURFEYRAC

Courfeyrac rolled over in the bed, flinging his arm out only for it to hit another body. He opened his eyes slowly as Combeferre groaned, rolling around as well to face him.

“Whoops.” Courfeyrac grinned. “Sorry.”

“I’m sure you are,” Combeferre mumbled, reaching across Courfeyrac to grab his glasses on the bedside table, slipping them on as he fell back down. Courfeyrac immediately leant his head on Combeferre’s chest, an arm going around his shoulder. “What are you doing today, again?”

“Studying in the library with Enj,” Courfeyrac moaned, hiding his face in Combeferre’s neck. He only had one exam left, the next day, and he was more than ready for it to be over.

“Right,” Combeferre said, pushing Courfeyrac off him and sitting up. “You should get ready then.” He had finished his last exam yesterday and had promptly slept for 16 hours. (Courfeyrac had come over late last night, after studying for a stupid amount of time and needing cuddles, only to find him face down on the couch, dead to the world, glasses pushed awkwardly up his forehead—it was the most adorable sight Courfeyrac had ever seen and there was now photographic evidence.)

“I don’t wanna,” Courfeyrac whined.

“It’s only one more day, love,” Combeferre said, leaning down to kiss his head (he had the best boyfriend), “you can make it.”

Eventually, Courfeyrac made his way out of the room, Combeferre trailing behind him, and found Enjolras sitting at the kitchen bench, staring down at his phone, eyes glazed over.

“Um, hello?” Courfeyrac said, sitting next to Enjolras as Combeferre grabbed two mugs and poured some coffee that Enjolras had made into them.

“Hi, Courf,” Enjolras said, distractedly. He continued to stare down at his phone.

“Is everything okay?” Combeferre asked, placing a mug in front of Courfeyrac, who beamed back.

“Oh. Yeah,” Enjolras said, looking up at Combeferre and putting his phone down, looking determined. “I’m in love with Grantaire.”

Courfeyrac choked on his coffee, glancing between Enjolras (who looked slightly terrified) and Combeferre (who looked pleased). “Is this a revelation?” Courfeyrac asked, very confused. Enjolras had come to them months ago, asking how they knew they liked each other, and he thought maybe he liked Grantaire, but he wasn’t sure. They had walked him through what it was like to love someone and by the end Enjolras had decided he did in fact like Grantaire (he tended to be very pragmatic about everything).

“Yes. No.” Enjolras shook his head. “I don’t know. I mean I knew I _liked _him, really liked him, because, well, how could you not,”—Enjolras was under the impression that everyone must like Grantaire (Courfeyrac found it adorable)—“but I didn’t realise how much I actually did and then he sent me this photo just then of him and his cat and I just thought to myself, ‘oh, I love him’.”

“How could you not already know?” Courfeyrac asked, incredulous. Combeferre shot him a small warning look, but he ignored it. “I mean, you planned a whole trip to Italy for him—isn’t that a pretty big tell?”

Enjolras blushed, ducking his head. “Well, yeah, but that was also for all of us.”

Combeferre sighed, cutting off Courfeyrac’s response. “Are you going to do anything about it?”

Enjolras dropped his head into his hands, and Combeferre moved his cup of coffee out of the way so Enjolras didn’t hit it. “I don’t know. Probably not.”

“You should,” Courfeyrac said.

Enjolras looked over at him, peaking through his fingers. “But what if he doesn’t like me back? I don’t want to ruin anything.” His voice came out muffled and quiet.

“You know R wouldn’t let anything happen to your friendship, even if he didn’t reciprocate.” (He definitely did, but Courfeyrac knew it wasn’t his place to say so.)

“You’re right,” Enjolras said, lifting his head again and standing up.

“As usual.” Both Combeferre and Enjolras laughed. “Let’s just get through this last exam and then get to Italy. We’ll see what happens from there.”

Enjolras nodded, putting his empty dishes in the sink and retreating to his bedroom. Courfeyrac sighed, leaning his chin on his hand, smiling at Combeferre. “Young love. So precious.”

“Are we not young love?” Combeferre asked as he sat down in Enjolras’ spot.

Courfeyrac grinned. “Of course, my darling, except we’ve passed that part, haven’t we?”

Combeferre looked at him, seriously, and Courfeyrac knew he was about to say something that was going to take him a while to recover from. “I am pretty sure at this point that you are it for me.”

Courfeyrac blushed. Despite being together for two years, three months and sixteen days (Courfeyrac always kept count—he was like that), they hadn’t really discussed what would happen after university. They still lived apart, although they did spend most nights together anyway, because they couldn’t do that to Enjolras yet. Courfeyrac had figured a long time ago that Combeferre was going to be there for the rest of his life, but it filled him with joy knowing it went both ways. “Same here,” he said softly, leaning over so he was resting on Combeferre’s shoulder, who squeezed his hand gently. He looked up, admiring Combeferre’s face (which was his favourite thing to look at). “You’re perfect, you know that?”

Combeferre smiled. “You do like to remind me every so often.”

“Well, you don’t seem to believe it yourself, so it’s necessary for me to do so.”

“Thank-you, Courf,” Combeferre said quietly. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Courfeyrac said, leaning up to kiss him gently.

“You guys are so gross,” Enjolras interrupted from behind them, having changed and now looking for something in the living room.

“Says the guy who realised he was in love by looking at a picture of a cat,” Courfeyrac retorted over Combeferre’s shoulder.

“R was in it too,” Enjolras mumbled, picking up his laptop. He looked over to them. “Hurry up, I want to leave soon.”

Courfeyrac stood up, decidedly not looking forward to a day full of study. “Aye, aye, Captain.”

ENJOLRAS IS IN LOVE│ITALY VLOG PART 1

Life_of_Courf

18/07/2019

It starts with Courfeyrac’s head in frame in early morning light. He has bags under his eyes and his curly hair is a mess. He waves tiredly into the camera, which is in selfie mode. Grantaire, in a similar state of tiredness, can be seen walking around in the background.

“Hey, everyone,” Courfeyrac says, “it is day one of our trip to Italy and currently five in the morning, which is horrible.” Grantaire grunts. “We have an 8.30 flight to Milan, because Ferre organised them and he’s an early riser.”

“Enj also wanted our day to start early, God knows why,” Grantaire says, walking towards the camera. Courfeyrac moved it so they could both fit in the frame.

“We have to leave in half an hour and neither of us have finished packing because Joly decided last night that he would go through a last minute ‘What to do/what not to do/how to stay safe’ lecture and we didn’t get home till about one.”

“Which I find amusing,” Grantaire interrupts, smirking, “because he also freaks out when we don’t get enough sleep, and now there’s going to be 13 of us running around Milan on very little sleep.”

“So, we’ll see you later, along with everyone else.” Courfeyrac waves at the camera.

It cuts to Courfeyrac holding the camera in selfie mode, Combeferre next to him, at the airport. Courfeyrac’s hair has now been tamed somewhat.

“Hello again, lovelies,” Courfeyrac says, “we are now at the airport, two hours early because Enjolras.” Combeferre chuckles. “This is Combeferre if you don’t know, the best person in the entire universe.” Combeferre waves into the camera.

“So,” Courfeyrac continues, “I’m gonna give you guys a bit of a run down before we leave, and Ferre here is going to help me. We have a great group of friends—they are all amazing people and we love them dearly. However,” he pauses dramatically and Combeferre smiles, sighing, “there is currently two very stupid idiots who don’t know they are in love with each other. That’s right, as you have probably noticed in previous videos, Grantaire and Enjolras basically act like an old married couple but aren’t actually together!”

“Disclaimer,” Combeferre says, “we will get permission from both of them before posting any on the internet, so don’t worry that we’re violating their trust or anything.”

“Yes, of course,” Courfeyrac says, “these are our best friends, we just want to do what’s best for them and thought it would be fun to capture it.” His face lights up and he switches the camera view to show Enjolras and Grantaire. “Oh, look at them!”

He zooms in on where they are sitting on a bench. Enjolras has fallen asleep on Grantaire’s shoulder, who is looking down at him, slightly dazed. The rest of Les Amis are milling around and Éponine grins at the camera, while taking a photo of the two.

“See, this is what we’re talking about,” Courfeyrac says, as the camera switches back around to him and Combeferre. “So, they met just under three years ago, a few months after we started Les Amis. R fell for Enj because, well, he kind of has that effect on people. Enj didn’t like him at first but he also doesn’t like anyone at first, so don’t be discouraged.”

“Anyway,” Combeferre says, “about six months ago Enj came to us and started asking all these questions about how we knew we liked each other.”

“Which was adorable.”

Combeferre nods. “It really was. He realised then that he liked R more than just a friend and, what was it? Two weeks ago?”

“Yep,” Courfeyrac says, grinning. “Enj had an epiphany. R had sent him this adorable photo of him and his cat,”—said picture appears as Courfeyrac continues—“and Enj just realises then and there that he loves him, and I almost lost it, it was so cute.”

It cuts back to them. “So here we are,” he continues, “on the way to Italy. I’m pretty sure Enjolras is planning on doing something and I’m hoping we can catch it on camera.”

“We should go,” Combeferre says, looking past the camera. “Joly’s starting to get anxious we’re going to miss the flight.”

“It’s an hour and a half away!” Courfeyrac says this to Combeferre before looking back into the camera. “Anyway, we’ll see you guys soon!”

‘I believe I can fly’ starts playing.

It cuts to Courfeyrac in his seat on the plane, Combeferre and Enjolras sitting next to him, both reading the same thing on a phone. Bahorel, Feuilly and Grantaire are across the aisle, waving madly at the camera. Courfeyrac nudges Combeferre, saying something that is muted, and both he and Enjolras look up. Combeferre smiles while Enjolras just looks back down at the article, causing Courfeyrac to pout.

It cuts to the seats behind Courfeyrac, where Marius and Cosette sit, waving. Then it shows Éponine and Jehan sitting together, behind Grantaire’s row. Éponine is awkwardly sitting sideways (the chair next to her is empty) as Jehan braids her hair. It cuts to Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta, sitting in front of Courfeyrac. They all wave and smile enthusiastically.

“Helloooo from Milan!” Courfeyrac’s face appears, Marius next to him. They are walking down a street and a few of the Amis can be seen walking behind them. “So, it’s been a few hours but we’ve made it to the hotel we’re staying at, spent an hour working out sleeping arrangements because apparently no one thought of that before we came, went out and had some very delicious lunch and now we’re about to get to Chiesa Santa Maria della Grazie, where some famous paintings are, I don’t really know—R is dragging us here.”

Grantaire pops his head into the frame, walking in between Courfeyrac and Marius. “Not just any famous paintings, dickwad. Da Vinci’s _The Last Supper_ is here. _The Last Supper_.” He repeats it with emphasis, before walking out of the frame again.

“Yes, that,” Courfeyrac says while Marius laughs, “very exciting.” He pulls the camera closer to their faces, lowering his voice. “Update on the Enj and R situation. I forgot to mention earlier that Enj, our dear lovely Enj, basically organised this whole trip under the guise of volunteering, but actually just wanted to take R to all the art he wanted to see.”

“Really?” Marius asks.

“Oh, yeah,” Courfeyrac grins. “He may have convinced you that we’re here for the greater good and everything, but he only got the idea after R mentioned that he had been wanting to go to Italy since forever. And has organised valuable time on touring rather than volunteering. He’s hopeless.

“Anyway,” Courfeyrac says, pulling the camera away and raising his voice to a normal level again, “We’re nearly there and, unfortunately, they don’t allow video cameras in there, so I’ll have to say goodbye for now.” They wave cheerily at the camera and the screen goes black.

ENJOLRAS  
  


They were milling around the foyer, waiting for their turn to see _The Last Supper_, when Grantaire appeared next to Enjolras, startingly him.

“Hey,” Grantaire said, chuckling slightly.

“Hey,” Enjolras said, breathless. (He needed time to prepare himself before he spoke to Grantaire, otherwise he turned into a blushing mess.) “Are you excited?”

“Yes,” Grantaire said, a smile taking over his face, “this is going to be great.”

“So, ah, what exactly are we seeing?” Enjolras asked.

“Seriously?” Grantaire’s mouth dropped. “You don’t know _The Last Supper_?”

“I mean, I know _of _it and I’ve seen pictures of it here and there, but I don’t really pay attention to art. I figured you would know a bit about it.” He actually did know lots about this painting, having done _a lot_ of research before coming (but he liked to see Grantaire enthuse over things—the way his hands gesticulated wildly and his eyes lit up and he talked and talked as if he couldn’t stop until he got all of the words out of him).

“Okay, well, Da Vinci started painting it in 1495 and it took him three years and he actually painted it _here_.” Grantaire spread his arms around, eyes wide, as though he couldn’t believe they were there. “It’s painted on a wall, which is why it wasn’t been moved, and he created his own technique on how to do it, but it actually didn’t work that well and it didn’t take long for it to start peeling and others tried to restore it, and kind of ruined it more. And then the vibrations from bombings in the Second World War decayed it even further, but there was a restoration in 1980 that took 19 years, and it’s finally back to as close as they can get it, even if it’s not with the original paint. Oh,” Grantaire looked him in the eye, face bright, “so everyone knows that it depicts Judas’ last supper, but Da Vinci actually captures the moment Jesus tells his disciples that one of them has betrayed them and its glorious.”

Enjolras did end up knowing everything Grantaire said (he was a very good researcher, okay?), but he let him ramble on until the tour guide ushered them in, making sure they were all quiet.

Despite how much reading Enjolras did about art, he still couldn’t get excited over actually seeing it, but that didn’t bother him. All of his friends were enthusiastically talking about the artwork, pointing at particular parts they found interesting or reading off the brochure they were given upon entry. Grantaire just stood in the middle of the room, staring up in wonder.

“Leave him be,” a voice said next to Enjolras, as he started towards Grantaire.

“Hm?” He turned to see Combeferre next to him, giving him a knowing look.

“Don’t interrupt him—you can talk to him later,” he replied, quietly.

Enjolras frowned, knowing he was right (no surprise there—this _was_ Combeferre they were talking about).

“Aww, what’s got our little angel so upset?”

Enjolras readied himself for Courfeyrac to attach himself to his side. Sure enough, a hand snaked around his waist and a chin was planted on his shoulder. He was good with physical affection—one of the few things he could do with other people—he just had to know it was coming. Courfeyrac had learnt long ago to always say something before touching him.

“Don’t worry,” Combeferre said, a small smile playing across his face.

Enjolras watched Feuilly talk energetically with Musichetta about a little detail they had spotted as the three of them fell silent.

“Hey Enj?” Courfeyrac whispered, after a while. Enjolras was now leaning back against him.

“Yeah?” Enjolras was distracted, observing Jehan lean against Grantaire as they stood in silence.

“Thank-you for organising this trip. It may have been for ulterior motives,”—he felt Courfeyrac smirk and reddened—“but it really was sweet of you. I don’t think R would have believed in himself to get here.” Combeferre nodded beside him.

“He deserves it.” He deserved everything.

“We know,” Combeferre said.

“Come on,” Courfeyrac said, a little bit louder, letting go of Enjolras and grabbing Combeferre’s hand. “We should probably actually look at the art we’re paying to see.”

Enjolras grinned, following them, with one last glance at Grantaire, who locked eyes with him, smiling.

ENJOLRAS IS IN LOVE│ITALY VLOG PART 1

Life_of_Courf

18/07/2019

It cuts to Courfeyrac sitting in a bed, hair a mess and shirtless. He smiles sleepily at the camera.

“So,” he stops, taking a deep yawn, “I kind of forgot to keep filming yesterday, but we had a great time. Went out to dinner after Chiesa Santa Maria della Grazie, and ended up staying there for hours, which is kind of a habit of ours. It was this beautiful little street food place and the food was delicious. My mouth is literally watering right thinking about it. Then we went to the Torre Banca, which is this tour and we took an elevator all the way to the top. The view was gorgeous.

“Now, it’s the next day and we have the first day of volunteering at Ripulire which is exciting.” Courfeyrac looks off screen, down at his phone. “Ah, yes, Enj should be here any minute demanding that we be up and getting ready. For some reason, we’ve been given connecting doors and I’m beginning to regret it. Unfortunately, we could not convince him to share a room with R and is instead with Feuilly, but thats probably for the better because I imagine he just would have freaked out all night and not get any sleep, and trust me, you do not want to see a sleep deprived Enjolras. That is one scary guy.”

There’s a rustle from off camera and Courfeyrac looks down again, his face soft. “Morning, Hun,” He says, moving the camera to show Combeferre, who is lying on his chest, his eyes half-closed, looking up at Courfeyrac.

“What are you doing?” he mumbles. Subtitles are provided.

“Catching up the lovelies on what happened last night ‘cause I forgot to film.” Courfeyrac lays down, too, the camera shaking as he does so.

“It’s too early for that.” Combeferre hides his face in his pillow.

“To the contrary, my dear, it is 7.29 and your best friend will be here any minute telling us to get up.”

“He’s yours, too.” Courfeyrac laughs as Combeferre smiles, leaning over to kiss him on the forehead. “Good morning,” he says, either forgetting or ignoring the camera.

“How’d you sleep?” Courfeyrac asks, sending a grin to the camera.

“Always better when you’re there.” He falls back down on to the pillow, closing his eyes again.

“This is the real content you guys have been asking for,” Courfeyrac says to the camera, gesturing to Combeferre, before quickly switching it around at a sound behind the door, just in time to show Enjolras storming through it, already dressed, ready for the day. He glares as he sees the camera, stopping short at the bed.

“Why have you already got that thing on?” he glowers.

“Updating the lovelies,” Combeferre’s voice says, sarcastic and tired.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” Enjolras says, turning his attention to him. “I need you to come help me sort through some papers for today—I’m not sure I’ve got everything right.” Enjolras stands at the end of the bed waiting and Courfeyrac starts to giggle, moving the camera so you can just see both Enjolras and Combeferre.

“Well, aren’t you coming?” Enjolras asks, impatient, as Combeferre doesn’t get up, only turning onto his back to see him more clearly.

“You might want to leave first,” Combeferre says, reaching over to the bedside table to grab his glasses.

“Why?”

Combeferre gives him a pointed look and the camera shakes slightly from Courfeyrac’s laughter. “Because I’m not wearing any clothes,” he says flatly.

Enjolras’ face colours. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Right. I should probably—go—then.” Enjolras hurries back to the door and the camera follows him, showing an amused Feuilly standing in the doorway, who waves.

It cuts to Les Amis hanging around the lobby as Enjolras and Combeferre, who is now dressed, look over something on a table. The camera films around and finds Grantaire, who is wearing a hideous green beanie. He smirks into the camera.

“Sup.”

“So, R,” Courfeyrac voice says from behind the camera, “care to explain what’s happening today?”

“Well, my dear viewers,” Grantaire says, playfully acting posh, “today we are giving back to the community that has given so little to us.”

“R.”

“What?” Grantaire throws up his arms. “It’s true—we don’t actually live here, so this community has done nothing for us.”

“Except hold one of the greatest paintings of all time.”

“Yes, well, you do have me there,” Grantaire shrugs, laughing. “But seriously, we’re working with this organisation, Ripulire, that aim to clean up the particularly polluted parts of the country, hence this glorious ensemble,” he steps back and the camera pans down and up, showing off his particularly worn down and painted splattered clothes, “but it seems really good, and while it should be the multicorporate businesses with gazillions of dollars fighting climate change and not us peasants who can barely afford to feed ourselves or make a dent in saving this doomed planet, I’m kind of looking forward to it. Don’t know why Apollo couldn’t pick the tree planting part of this, but whatever.”

“Ah,” comes another voice, as Bossuet steps into the frame, throwing an arm around Grantaire’s shoulder, “there he is—our beloved grouchy R. I’ve missed you, bud, you’ve been far too optimistic these days.”

Grantaire snorts. “It’s all an act. I actually believe in saving the world the most out of all of you but have been putting on a façade all these years,” he retorts, sarcasm seeping through his words.

Bossuet gives him a knowing look, but moves on, pointing off camera, to where Enjolras and Combeferre sit. “I think they’re about done and we should be heading off soon.”

Courfeyrac switches the camera around, showing his face. “Hopefully,” he winks, “coming up next is a lovely montage of us being dedicated citizens—”

“We’re not citizens,” Grantaire’s voice says.

“Dedicated angels,” Courfeyrac says, barely missing a beat, “and I’ll leave links down below to Ripulire, so please check it out and donate if you can. See you soon!” He blows a kiss at the camera.

It cuts to said montage, showing footage of all of Les Amis working hard, “Work This Out” from High School Musical 2 playing.

COMBEFERRE

Combeferre rested against the bedhead as he watched Enjolras sit down cautiously on the one armchair the hotel room provided, Courfeyrac’s camera set up on a tripod in front of him. Courfeyrac looked into the camera, stretching out his hand to turn on a light switch (which took several attempts of him randomly hitting the wall before he got it), before stepping back, satisfied. He grinned over at Combeferre briefly, who smiled back (he loved it when Courfeyrac grinned at him—loved the ease with which he handed out smiles to anyone and anything).

“I’m not sure about this,” Enjolras said, doubt written all across his face (he would be the worst at poker). 

“Enjolras,” Courfeyrac said, stepping around the camera to kneel in front of him, “this doesn’t have to actually go in a video, okay? Everything that is said here can remain completely confidential if you want it to. I just think it would be an interesting thing to capture.” Courfeyrac had somehow convinced Enjolras to do an ‘extended’ interview of sorts, to ask about Grantaire. He was under the impression that this would be the trip to finally get them together (Combeferre didn’t think he was far off in that assessment, judging by the way Enjolras was acting) and wanted to document as much as possible. It was the end of the first day of volunteering and Combeferre was more than ready to not do anything for the next few hours (besides watch Enjolras squirm) before they had to go out to dinner again.

Enjolras nodded, sitting back in the chair a bit more. Courfeyrac started the camera and then joined him, squeezing himself in between the arm and Enjolras, who looked slightly miffed. Combeferre chuckled and Enjolras shot him a look.

“Ready?” Courfeyrac said, looking next to him. Enjolras nodded again. “Awesome, I’ll just do a little introduction then we’ll get started.”

As Courfeyrac started talking to the camera (Combeferre was still amazed at the ease with which Courfeyrac talked to it—whenever he got put in front of it, he felt like an awkward mess), Combeferre continued looking at Enjolras, analysing him (he did that a lot). Enjolras might be the most closed off person to ever exist—except for maybe Éponine—but he was also truly horrible at keeping his emotions off of his face. It was entirely possible that Combeferre just knew how to read him after years of friendship, after all Grantaire was still obtuse to the fact that Enjolras harboured a massive crush for him and he was excellent at reading people. Grantaire had actually been the first one to realise how far gone Combeferre was over Courfeyrac before they had started dating and would come over to his dorm room with ice cream without having to be asked. (He’d found out later that Grantaire also did that for Courfeyrac, which amused him.)

Combeferre watched Enjolras steel himself, taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly, almost imperceptible to the camera. Courfeyrac patted him on the knee before standing up, walking to be behind the camera. Enjolras rearranged himself, crossing his legs on the chair, aiming (and not entirely failing) to look relaxed.

“Remember, just look at me,” Courfeyrac said, sitting on the bed, right next to the camera and facing Enjolras. Combeferre immediately placed his feet across Courfeyrac’s lap, who put a hand on his ankle. Combeferre smiled. “So. Grantaire.”

“Yes,” Enjolras replied, face as blank as he can get it.

“Your one true love?” Courfeyrac asked, a grin slipping onto his face.

Enjolras glared and Combeferre stopped himself from laughing. “That’s presuming there is such a thing as ‘one true love’.”

Courfeyrac laughed, squeezing Combeferre’s ankle when he nudged him.

“I think,” Enjolras said slowly, searching for his words, “that some people are more suited towards each other, such as you two,”—he gestured towards them—“while others are with people that they may love, but shouldn’t be with. So, I guess, if we were to count that as ‘true love’, I think Grantaire could be that.” He ended the sentence almost like a question, wincing.

“Very nicely put,” Courfeyrac said, nodding. “So, tell me, why do you love him?”

“You’re really not easing into this, are you?” Enjolras said, tilting his head. He took a moment before he spoke again. “There’s many things to like about R. He’s creative, hilarious, has an amazing work ethic.” He leant forward, enthusiasm taking over him. “I mean, he’s says that he’s a disaster in life and I don’t know how he could think that because he honestly does more than all of us combined, between school, boxing, dancing, his channel, all while contributing to Les Amis and sometimes doing commissions. And he’s constantly laughing and hanging out with us—I don’t know how he does it. Oh, and the most impressive thing about him is his resilience. He’s gone through hell and back and has had to deal with much more than anyone our age should have had to and yet is still this amazing human being that everyone loves.” He flopped back into the seat. “He’s just—” he stopped, searching for the word.

“Perfect?” Combeferre supplied.

“Well, no, because no one is perfect, although he’s very close. He’s—well, there’s very little not to like about him.”

Courfeyrac shared a grin with Combeferre. “You’re adorable,” he said to Enjolras, who blushed and stiffly replied, “Thank-you.”

“So,” Courfeyrac continued, “for those who don’t know, it’s Grantaire’s birthday in a about a week, and we’ll be in Rome?” He looked at Combeferre, who nodded, and turned back to Enjolras. “Do you have any plans for the day?”

“I did plan for that to be our day off from volunteering,” Enjolras said, ducking his head.

“We noticed,” Courfeyrac smirked.

“I haven’t actually planned anything for the day—I figured Grantaire should get to choose what he wants to do. However, I did find this night time tour of the Sistine Chapel, which means the crowds are basically gone and I thought he might want to go to that after dinner?” he finished, uncertain.

“He would love that,” Combeferre said softly. Grantaire would melt if Enjolras took him there (Combeferre was melting just thinking about it).

“Do you want it to be a date?” Courfeyrac asked, cautiously.

Enjolras shrugged, a small smile appearing. “We’ll see what happens?”

Courfeyrac squealed, clapping his hands together. “You guys are honestly the cutest thing ever.”

“Can I go now?” Enjolras asked, starting to stand up. “I actually have work I need to do before dinner.”

Courfeyrac got up, pushing Combeferre’s feet off and turning off the camera before walking around it to hug Enjolras, who returned it.

Courfeyrac pulled back, but kept Enjolras close, saying, “You’ll be fine. This is perfect for R and he’ll appreciate it so much.”

Enjolras nodded, determination in his eyes, and walked to the door connecting their rooms. “I’ll see you guys soon.”

Courfeyrac turned around to Combeferre when Enjolras closed the door, beaming. “Oh my God.”

“I know,” Combeferre said, smiling back.

“It’s just—” Courfeyrac walked towards him, holding out a hand and he gladly took it.

“Yep.”

“I can’t wait for his birthday now.”

“Are you really going to put that in the vlog?” he asked, gesturing to the camera, as Courfeyrac pulled him up and off the bed.

“Parts of it at least,” Courfeyrac said, “Only if they actually get there shit together and they both approve of course.”

Combeferre hummed, reaching a hand up to Courfeyrac’s chin and pulling them close together. Courfeyrac blinked once and Combeferre found himself distracted by his long, dark eyelashes (it happened often—they were the beautiful, okay, he couldn’t help himself).

“And what about the video of me in bed this morning?”

Courfeyrac laughed, his hands coming up to rest against Combeferre’s chest. “Oh, that is definitely going in—it’s hilarious.”

Combeferre closed his eyes, sighing. “Do people really need to know we have a sex life?”

“Hey,” Courfeyrac said and he opened his eyes again, “being naked does not necessarily mean that sex was involved.” There was a smirk playing on his face and Combeferre glowered slightly (he was never able to frown properly around Courfeyrac).

“It did for us,” he mumbled, leaning their foreheads close together (it wasn’t easy, with how tall Combeferre was, but they made it work).

“Well, then if people make the assumption that I am having amazing sex with my amazing boyfriend, I can’t and won’t correct them,” Courfeyrac said slyly.

“You’re ridiculous.” Combeferre ran a thumb across his jaw and they fell into silence. He loved these moments, where they could both just be together and not need to fill the silence with endless chatter. (Combeferre found this particularly special because Courfeyrac seemed to have a never-ending list of things to say.) After a moment (where he admired Courfeyrac’s eyes, as he was wont to do), he cupped Courfeyrac’s neck with both of his hands and stuck out his tongue, quickly licking Courfeyrac’s nose, who pulled back slightly and burst into laughter.

“Gross,” he whined, wiping his nose with the back of his hand, but grinning, nonetheless.

Combeferre grinned cheekily back, dropping a kiss on his lips, which Courfeyrac eagerly returned.

R GETS A BOYF│ITALY BLOG PART 2

Life_of_Courf

20/07/2019

Bahorel and Joly’s faces appear on the screen, with the rest of the Les Amis standing around behind them, except for Grantaire, as well as Courfeyrac, who is holding the camera.

“So,” Bahorel says, and Joly shushes him frantically. With an eyeroll, he starts again, this time barely a whisper. “So, today is our resident cynic’s birthday and we’ve decided the best way to celebrate is by waking him up at six in the morning.”

“And by waking him up,” Joly says, “we mean barge into his room. Éponine has begrudgingly joined us so we have a key to their room,”—Éponine glares at the camera from the background—“and Feuilly and Chetta ducked out last night and found some party poppers, streamers and balloons.”

In the background, Feuilly is handing out each of the items to everyone.

“Here we go,” Bahorel says, rubbing his hands together and grinning manically.

Éponine opens the door, putting a finger to her lips as they all creep into the hotel room. Enjolras is last, giving a look at Courfeyrac behind the camera. “I still don’t think this is a good idea,” he says, whispering.

“As you’ve said, Enj,” Courfeyrac replies, equally as quiet.

“He has enough trouble sleeping as it is and he deserves to sleep in.”

Courfeyrac reaches out a hand and pats his cheek, causing Enjolras to scowl, still ignoring the camera. “You’re so sweet,” he says, before walking towards where everyone is crowded around Grantaire’s bed, who is sound asleep, snoring slightly. Courfeyrac stands back so everyone can be seen, with Grantaire in the middle of the screen. Bahorel holds up three fingers and mimes counting down. On one, they all burst into cheers, popping the party poppers and throwing the streams. Combeferre, from the corner of the room, turns the light on.

Grantaire sits up suddenly, squinting in the light, with streamers and string hanging randomly over his head and shirtless body. “Huh?”

“Happy birthday!” they all cheer, except Enjolras, who is slightly red, in the corner of the screen.

“Oh, right, that,” Grantaire says, smiling awkwardly. He notices the camera and waves, before looking over at the curtains, where there is very little light seeping through. “Um, what time is it?”

“Six,” Cosette says cheerfully, handing him over a bundle of balloons.

Grantaire slumps back against the bedhead, mumbling, “I hate you, Ponine.”

It cuts to Courfeyrac sitting in his bed, the camera in selfie mode. “Welcome, my dears,” he says, waving, “It’s Courf here and this is part two,”—he holds up two fingers—“of my vlogs of Italy. If you haven’t watched part one yet, I suggest you do, cause there is some juicy content on there. As shown in that episode, we’ve been to Milan, Venice, Florence and we arrived in Rome last night. Today is our day off from working with Ripulire because it is R’s birthday! Go check out his channel, rdoesnothing, if you’re new here. Enjoy the video.” He grins at the camera.

It cuts to Grantaire sitting at an outside café table, looking out at the street, a fork in hand as takes bites of his plate of food infrequently. Marius is sitting next to him, half in the frame, talking to someone across the table.

“R!” Courfeyrac’s voice says from behind the camera and Grantaire looks over.

“Yeah?”

“How’s the birthday?”

Grantaire grins, leaning his head on his hands. “Not bad, so far—if you exclude the six am wake up call.”

“Don’t be mean, you loved it.”

Grantaire laughs. “It wasn’t the worst thing ever.”

“Want to inform our dearies on what we’ve been doing today?”

Grantaire sits back, looking into the camera and taking a bite of his food. “Well, this morning we went out to this amazing café for breakfast and it was honestly some of the best food I’ve eaten all week. Afterwards we went to the Colosseum, because, well, it’s a must.” He smirks. “It was very enjoyable watching Enjolras get increasingly agitated learning about how much animals were used in their festivities. We had to physically restrain him for berating the overly enthusiastic tour guide. Then we checked out the Roman Forum, which was _beautiful_, and then the Trevi Fountain, because again, a must.”

It cuts to a shot of the Trevi Fountain before zooming on two people standing close together in front of it. After a moment, they are able to be discerned as Enjolras and Grantaire, facing away from the camera as they talk.

The camera switches around and shows Courfeyrac’s face, who winks at it.

It cuts back to Grantaire. “Now, we’re here at this restaurant for a late lunch.” He points at his food with his fork, leaning forward, with a conspiratorial whisper. “There is no bad food here. We’ve had so many meals and I haven’t been disappointed with any of them. Can we move here, please?” he asks Courfeyrac, pouting.

“We’re not upending our lives for food,” Courfeyrac laughs, “as good as it may be.”

“Fine,” Grantaire crosses his arms. “Just don’t be surprised if I mysteriously disappear before we make it to the airport.”

“What have we got planned for the rest of the day?”

“Next, because it’s my birthday and I get to choose where we go,” Grantaire pokes his tongue out, “we’re going to check out the catacombs. Joly will continue to badger me into not going, believing it’s going to be unsafe with all the rats and dust and, you know, possibility of it falling on us and we all die a horrible death,”—he points into the camera—“but I refuse to listen to him because catacombs are fun and interesting and I want to go. And then we’ll find somewhere for dinner and I think Enj said he had something planned for afterwards, but I’m not sure what it is,” he finishes, cocking his head to the side.

“Oh, yeah,” Marius interrupts, stopping his other conversation, “it’s only you guys going, sounds like it’s going to be fun.”

“It is?” Grantaire looks from Marius to Courfeyrac. “You guys aren’t coming?”

“Nope,” Courfeyrac says.

“Oh.” Grantaire looks slightly panicky and Marius looks confused. “Right.”

“It will be fine, R,” Courfeyrac says gently.

“Yeah, of course,” Grantaire says, grinning at the camera again.

It cuts to a close up of Enjolras, who is scowling, standing in a crowded court.

“Is this really the time?” he asks, arms crossed.

“Yep,” Courfeyrac’s voice replies. “You ready for tonight?”

A light blush spreads across his cheeks and he frowns more. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

GRANTAIRE

“Are you ready?” Jehan asked, lying on their front on Grantaire’s bed, head in their hand.

“Hm?” Grantaire asked, distracted from where he was going through footage he had taken throughout the day. He was laying sideways on an armchair, legs thrown over the side.

“Are you ready?” Jehan repeated and Grantaire looked up, seeing a sly smile on their face.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well,” Jehan said slowly, sitting up and crossing their legs. Grantaire put down his camera, turning to face them properly. “It’s just going to be the two of you.”

“And?”

Jehan gave him a look.

“I’ve spent plenty of time with him alone, I’ll be fine.” He could feel the panic begin to creep into his voice.

Jehan just continued to look at him and Grantaire stood up, crossing over to the bathroom and checking himself in the mirror. Jehan sighed, following him. “You will be fine,” they said, resting their chin on his shoulder. “You’ve had a great day, and now you get to spend the remainder of your birthday in one of your favourite places in the world with one of your best friends.”

Grantaire gulped, smiling slightly at Jehan through the mirror when there was a knock at the door. “Ah, bye, I guess.”

“I’ll come out with you,” Jehan said, pulling Grantaire by the hand. “I hear there’s a Marvel marathon happening in Courf and Ferre’s room—Winter Soldier, which would be a crime to miss.” They opened the door, revealing Enjolras waiting as Grantaire grabbed his room key and phone. “Enjoy,” they grinned, leaving the two alone.

Grantaire stepped into the hallway, closing the door softly behind him. “Hey,” he said (praying it didn’t sound too awkward).

“Hey,” Enjolras said, a smile across his face. “Let’s go.”

“No way.”

“Yes way.”

Grantaire tore his eyes away from the towering building in front of him to sneak a glance at Enjolras, who was gently smiling at him.

“You didn’t,” he said.

“I did,” was all Enjolras replied with.

After an nearly an hour of walking they had arrived at the entrance to the Sistine Chapel and Enjolras had pulled out two tickets to a night tour for them. (Grantaire had gasped dramatically and he was not ashamed one bit.)

“These must have cost a fortune!”

“I get to choose how I spend my own money,” Enjolras said, referring to a recurring argument between the two (he tended to spend unnecessary amounts of money on his friends—something that Grantaire found difficult to swallow, having had to make his own way for most of his life), as he pulled him along by the hand.

“Yes, yes, I know,” Grantaire said, rolling his eyes as he stumbled after him, “but seriously, this really wasn’t necessary.”

“Grantaire,” Enjolras stopped and turned around, pulling close (Grantaire forced himself to breath properly), “We’re about to go into the Sistine Chapel—a place that you have waxed poetry about weekly since we met—while it is basically empty. Please, just enjoy this.” He pulled away, still holding onto Grantaire (his mind pointed out to him), and continued walking. “Also, it’s your birthday and you should do what you love on your birthday.”

Grantaire let out a short laugh, unable to come up with a coherent reply and just squeezing Enjolras’ hand instead.

They were shuffled along into the entrance, along with a small group of tourists, and after a few moments, they were inside, starring up in wonder at the art. Enjolras had let go of his hand, but he stayed close enough for them to bump shoulders when walking. A tour guide spoke quietly to them, spewing facts and interesting stories of Michelangelo’s life and work in the Chapel, and Grantaire took to whispering “knew that” into Enjolras ear after every piece of information, and even a couple of corrections, causing Enjolras to laugh softly behind his hand.

Before Grantaire was truly able to explore the building (he could have stayed there for weeks and still want to examine each piece more closely), they were ushered out by the guide. The two slowly walked through the Vatican City, letting the cool summer night air wash over them once outside.

“That was—” Grantaire said, sighing.

“I know,” Enjolras said.

“Honestly, I’d thought I would have to skip out on volunteering tomorrow morning and go see it with the masses of people.”

“You wouldn’t,” Enjolras said in mock horror.

“Well, now I don’t have to.” Grantaire nudged Enjolras with his shoulder, grinning. “Thank-you, seriously, this was amazing. It’s probably my best birthday yet.”

Enjolras just smiled at him, replying, “No worries.”

Grantaire continued to chat enthusiastically, describing every little detail he noticed while there (and watching Enjolras look ahead while they were walking, nodding along and adding his own thoughts here and there), until they reached the River Tiber and Enjolras found a bench under a streetlamp.

“Want to sit?” He said (nervously, Grantaire noted). “I don’t really want to go back yet.”

“Sure,” Grantaire said and sat down next to him, their shoulders barely brushing.

“I, um—” Enjolras started, fishing something out of his small messenger bag, “I also got you this.” He handed over a small package, wrapped in layers to tissue paper.

“What?” Grantaire said, a little (a lot) dumbstruck. “I thought that was the present,” he gestured vaguely behind his shoulder, in the direction of where they had come from.

“It was,” Enjolras said, turning so he was facing Grantaire more, “I just—I found these and thought of you. They’re from Venice.”

“Oh,” Grantaire said, while moving to mirror him and unwrapping the present (with some difficulty as it had lots of sticky tape holding it together). When he was finally able to open the tissue paper, he pulled out a small pair of glass studded sunflower earrings. “Oh,” he said again, looking up at Enjolras, “Ange.”

“You like them?” Enjolras looked uneasy, biting his lip.

“They’re beautiful,” he said, looking down at them and examining them thoroughly. He didn’t wear earrings often, despite having had his ears pierced for years, but when he did, he always went for small, simple and plain—these were perfect. Grantaire vaguely wondered if Enjolras knew the meaning of sunflowers (longevity, loyalty and _adoration_) but quickly dismissed that, knowing well enough that Enjolras didn’t pay attention to those things. “Thank-you,” he looked back up at Enjolras. “Again.”

“I thought they suited you,” he replied simply, smiling (he was smiling at lot tonight, Grantaire’s mind supplied).

They sat in silence for a moment, as Grantaire put the earrings in. “What do you think?” he asked, exaggeratedly flipping his hair.

“Perfect,” Enjolras grinned, looking him in the eye, and Grantaire’s mind short-circuited, thoroughly confused by everything Enjolras had said and done that evening.

And “Is this a date?” was apparently the only thing his (stupid, idiotic, non-thinking) mind could reply with.

Enjolras blushed, awkwardly playing with a curl, and Grantaire stopped himself from burying his face into his hands, but determinedly looked away from him and out across the river (it really was a lovely view and he had been ignoring it’s beauty, which would not do). “If you want it to be,” Enjolras replied after a moment.

Grantaire coughed, choking on nothing. “Wait, really?” he said, incredulous.

“I didn’t want to bring it up today, because it could very possibly make you feel uncomfortable and ruin your birthday,” Enjolras said, going between making eye contact with him and darting his eyes away, “But I, uh, do have feelings for you—have for sometime now—and would like to, you know, pursue something if you’re willing.”

Grantaire stared at him, mouth agape. “_You_,” he said, pointing at Enjolras, “have feelings for _me_.” He waved a hand, indicating the mess that was himself.

“Yes,” Enjolras nodded.

“Oh, God.”

“Is that so hard to believe?” Enjolras asked, concern lacing his voice.

“Yes, no,” Grantaire said, playing with the tissue paper in his hand, “I don’t know. I just need a moment to process. I mean, I can kind of see you liking me, but also it seems entirely impossible because you’re you and I’m me and why would you like this. Also, I don’t even know—”

“Grantaire,” Enjolras said, his voice stern as he placed a hand on his waving arm and Grantaire stopped midsentence, realising he was starting to ramble. “First of all, I like you because I do, don’t worry about that. I’ve thought about this and have had many discussions with Courf and Ferre to sort what I actually feel about you.”

“That’s romantic,” Grantaire snorts.

“You know I’m pragmatic in nature.” Grantaire nodded. “Second,” he hesitated, nervous, “do _you_ like me?”

“Have I not said that already?” Grantaire asked, cocking his head to the side and Enjolras shook his head, the tiniest of smiles spreading across his lips (lips that Grantaire was very tempted—and probably allowed—to kiss). “Right. Okay, right.”

“Grantaire.”

Grantaire shook himself, facing Enjolras properly and taking his hands in his own. “Ange, of course I like you, how could I not? There was never any doubt in that.”

Enjolras’ smile widened and his shoulders dropped, relaxing. “Good.”

“Very good,” Grantaire agreed, squeezing his hands.

Enjolras paused for a moment, looking at him intently. “Can I kiss you then?”

Grantaire spluttered, grinning. “Always.”

“Good,” Enjolras said again and leaned in.

(“Best first date, by the way,” Grantaire said, as they walked into the lobby of the hotel.

“Huh?” Enjolras said, glancing at him.

“This was the best date ever. I don’t think you’re going to be able to ever top it.” He grinned cheekily.

“Yeah, don’t expect much in the future.” Enjolras pulled him into an elevator and kissed him when the door closed, pushing him against the wall. Grantaire just grinned even wider, reaching out to press the button to their floor.)

R GETS A BOYF│ITALY BLOG PART 2

Life_of_Courf

20/07/2019

It cuts to all of Les Amis eating lunch at a park, sitting in a circle on the grass, chatting quietly. The camera moves to the side to show Grantaire, whose eating a sandwich. He grimaces at it.

“Do you always have to do this while I’m eating?” he says to behind the camera and Courfeyrac can be heard laughing.

“I do it when I have time, and now is the only time we have.”

Grantaire just nods, moving to sit square on in the frame. “Yes?” he says, amused, after a moment.

“So,” Courfeyrac says, “how was your birthday?”

A faint blush appears on his tan cheeks, and he looks away. “It was good.”

“Good?” Courfeyrac repeats.

“Yes, I had a very nice day.”

“Any… updates?” Courfeyrac ventures.

At that moment, a pair of legs appear next to Grantaire, a hand reaching down. Grantaire grabs it and pulls down, revealing Enjolras, who sits down next to him comfortably. He ignores the camera, holding out a cone of gelato.

“Hey,” he says to Grantaire.

“Hey,” Grantaire grins back.

“I found this.” He hands over the cone and Grantaire takes it, shooting a glance at the camera.

“Thanks.”

“Hey!” Bahorel’s voice calls from off camera and Courfeyrac zooms the camera out to show him too, sitting in between Feuilly and Jehan. “Why don’t we get ice cream?”

Enjolras glares at him. “It’s gelato.”

Bahorel rolls his eyes, grinning. “You’re evading the question.”

“I felt like getting R some and not you,” Enjolras says primly, crossing his arms and everyone burst into laughter as Grantaire blushes.

“So,” Courfeyrac says, zooming the camera back in on Grantaire and Enjolras as everyone went back to their conversations. “You guys.”

“Yes?” Grantaire says, leaning back on one arm and licking his gelato. Enjolras ignores them as he reads something on his phone.

“Do you wanna, I don’t know, explain for the lovelies what’s going on here?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Grantaire smirks.

“R,” Courfeyrac’s voice sounds exasperated.

Grantaire just grins at the camera, before sitting up properly and bringing his hand not holding the gelato up to the back of Enjolras’ neck, who looks up at him quizzically. Grantaire smiles at him and pulls him into a kiss, which Enjolras readily returns, bringing up a hand to cup his jaw. There’s whoops and cheers from the others. Grantaire pulls away after a moment, briefly resting their foreheads together as Enjolras keeps his eyes closed, smiling. Grantaire looks over at the camera, and pokes his tongue out at it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!  
Just a few things of note:  
\- this is set in Paris, but I didn't want to make anything specific because, well, I've unfortunately never been there.  
\- as mentioned in the beginning notes, I know nothing about France or Italy, so take any of those specific details with a grain of salt. For example, I tried looking up how university works but gave up, so kind of based it off both Australian and American tertiary studies, cause that's what I do know.  
\- fyi, the two Italy blogs were longer than what I wrote I'm just lazy and couldn't be bothered writing them fully out, especially seeming I haven't been to Italy and don't know what to do there.  
\- half of this was just a chance for me to sort out my headcannons for each character for future use.  
\- ripulire is literally just the verb for "cleaning up" in Italian because we have Clean Up Australia Day here and that was my inspiration when trying to think of a name.  
\- can you tell I like writing cute Courferre fluff because it's great and the stuff about them has no use for the story but I'm keeping it there.  
\- that scene where Combeferre licks Courfeyrac's nose is directly based off of an artwork by Infinite-Mirrors on tumblr because I saw it and died so somehow ended up incorporating it into my story.  
\- also, this story changes from present tense to past tense which is very confusing to write and I don't why I did that, but I hope it still makes sense.  
\- I did edit this and tried to pick up all the mistakes (there were a lot) but if you find any, let me know!  
\- title from Hozier's Someone New. If you haven't listened to it, do yourself a favour and go do it now.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed! I have a few follow up ideas floating around in the back of my head, so I might turn this into a series
> 
> Check me out on tumblr here.


End file.
